


for medicinal purposes only

by ictus



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Harley figures that there are only so many times you can watch some unlucky schmuck fall victim to Ivy’s aphrodisiacs before you begin to fantasise about a similar scenario.





	for medicinal purposes only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HostisHumaniGeneris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/gifts).



> Written for HostisHumaniGeneris for the Femslash After Dark 2018 exchange. They requested:
> 
> _Lesbian sex with two of Gotham's bad girls. I'd really appreciate Ivy taking charge with vines & mind altering substances (with Harley's permission, of course). Albeit if somehow Harley turns the tables and doms Ivy, that'd be awesome, too. Likes: kissing, foreplay, fingering, toys, cunnilingus, hair pulling, spanking, little bit of roughness._
> 
> I think I managed to hit everything, I hope you like it!

 

i. _Carlina acaulis_

 

It starts—like the best things in Harley’s life—with gunfire and explosives.

Fischer Pharmaceutical’s security is laughably lax, and most of the hired security goes down easy. Unfortunately one of them manages to trigger the alarm before Harley can take him out, but she can’t even bring herself to be irritated; she always did love a challenge, and the pressure of incoming reinforcements only adds to the thrill of the job.

She does, however, make him regret it. She holsters her handgun and in favour of the knife she keeps in her boot, and for a long minute the man’s garbled cries are the only sounds filling the lab. His screams are suddenly drowned out by the alarm, and it sounds for all of five seconds before it’s abruptly cut off and Ivy emerges from the adjacent room, triumphant.

“You disabled the alarm already?” Harley asks as the guard splutters and dies at her feet. “That must be some kind of record for you.”

“Practice makes perfect,” she says simply, pocketing a flash drive and casually stepping over the dead guard to kiss Harley on the cheek. “Now are we going to do this thing or what?”

Harley gets to work on laying out the C4 while Ivy helps with the wiring. Now that they’re on a time crunch there’s no time for theatrics, but Harley’s sure to load a few bricks in the storage room where the flammable chemicals are kept, already looking forward to ending the night with a _bang_.

They hightail it out of the lab and make it back to their stolen car just as the building explodes with such force that it shakes the ground and leaves Harley’s ears ringing. She laughs breathlessly, giddy with excitement. The two of them clamber onto the hood to watch the flames lick the night sky, the thrum of adrenaline in Harley’s veins far from dissipating.

“This is nice,” Ivy says serenely, laying her head on Harley’s shoulder and linking their fingers together.

“Yeah, that’ll serve ‘em for dumping toxic waste into the river.” It’s not until she’s said the words that she realises that she can’t exactly remember why they hit this place—honestly, it’s hard to keep track these days. But Ivy simply hums in agreement so she figures she must at least be in the ballpark.

Ivy’s quiet on the drive back but Harley’s still full of restless energy, can’t stop jiggling her legs where they rest on the dash, fiddling with the knobs on the radio. She wants nothing more than for Ivy to pull over so she can climb into her lap, get her hands under her shirt and press her mouth to every inch of exposed skin—anything work off some of the adrenaline that’s still coursing through her system. But Ivy’s always so _serious_ when it comes to work, doesn’t like to fuck around on the job, and Harley supposes she can respect that; someone’s got to keep them in line after all, and Harley’s just glad it doesn’t have to be her.

She’s practically bursting out of her skin by the time they’re within twenty miles of Gotham, and it takes every bit of her self-restraint not to tackle Ivy onto the backseat once they finally arrive. They ditch the car in the backstreets of the Narrows and cover the rest of the distance to their safehouse on foot. Ivy’s barely got the door shut behind them before Harley’s slamming her against it, covering her mouth with her own and swallowing down every tiny gasp she makes.

“Been wanting to do this for hours, Red,” she says as she mouths at Ivy’s jaw, her throat. She gets a knee between Ivy’s legs and begins to grind against her thigh, her hands roaming incessantly until they find the hem of her shirt, _finally_ getting to touch bare skin and it’s such a rush that—

“Harls,” says Ivy, stopping her by placing her hands on Harley’s wrists, “I think you’re a little too amped up. Why don’t we have a cup of tea first?”

Harley’s answering whine is equal parts needy and indignant as she struggles to gain the leverage that will allow her to continue grinding against Ivy. She’s more than a little breathless when she says, “not to be rude but I’d really rather we didn’t.”

“Harley,” she says so sharply it makes Harley’s cunt throb.

Harley blinks for several seconds, confused. “Yeah, okay let’s have some _tea_ ,” she says, knowing she sounds petulant and not even caring. Their current safehouse is an apartment that’s no bigger than a shoebox, but that hasn’t stopped Ivy from covering every flat surface with potted plants. Harley follows her into the kitchen and sets the kettle on to boil, then watches her greet them all—running her fingers over tendrils, misting here and there—and Harley swears she sees flowers blossom under her touch.

“The carline thistle is found throughout Europe and Northern Africa,” she says, clipping a few white flowers from a small plant near the windowsill. Harley has never been one for plants, doesn’t have the patience to tend to them, but Ivy lights up when she talks about them and Harley could listen to her for hours. “Its flowers have been known to have sedative effects.”

Harley wrinkles her nose. “So what, like chamomile?”

Ivy shoots her the same smile that she reserves for hapless men whom she’s about to hypnotise. “A little stronger than that. The effects are also psychotropic.” She adds the flowers to a tea strainer and pours over some hot water, and Harley notices that she’s only making one cup.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, realisation dawning. She’s been nagging Ivy for months now about bringing some of her more fun plants into the bedroom because truthfully, there are only so many times you can watch some unlucky schmuck fall victim to Ivy’s aphrodisiacs before you begin to fantasise about a similar scenario. At no point did Harley ever expect Ivy to give her anything that could be described as a _sedative_ , but she’s still wired from their job tonight—practically buzzing with wild energy—and there’s no one she trusts more than Ivy.

Harley damn-near scalds herself in her eagerness to drink the tea, now that she knows where the evening’s heading. Ivy just watches her, small smile playing on her lips, and Harley knows her well enough to know she’s scheming. Harley barely represses a shiver at the thought of what she’s planning, a different kind of energy now thrumming in her veins.

“How long does it—” she begins, stopping herself once she finds the words are coming out thickly, like trying to talk around a mouthful of molasses. 

“Oh, not long,” she replies and closes the distance between them. Ivy kisses her slow and sweet, and all other thoughts immediately evaporate. Harley lets her eyes fall shut and opens up for her, completely surrendering to the kiss, feeling as if she’d float away if it weren’t for Ivy’s hands on her shoulders, keeping her grounded. For what feels like endless moments, Harley’s lost in the slide of Ivy’s tongue against hers, the press of her lips, her whole world narrowed down to the feel of Ivy’s mouth on hers.

It takes her some time to register that Ivy’s pulled away until she hears from what seems to be a great distance, “let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

Ivy guides her towards the bedroom with a hand on her wrist, her muscle memory the only thing that’s allowing her to put one foot after the other. Harley’s vision is hazy, warped; objects blending into each other with blurred edges. It leaves her feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, so she closes her eyes and focuses on Ivy’s touch; her careful movements as she undoes Harley’s boots and thigh holsters, the trail of kisses she leaves down her chest as she removes her shirt.

“How do you feel?” she asks, and it takes Harley several moments to parse what she’s said.

“Yes,” she says hurriedly. Then, realising she hasn’t answered the question, “I feel amazing.”

Ivy chuckles low in her throat, a sound that Harley feels rather than hears, and pushes her back onto the bed. Suddenly Ivy is on top of her, and all of Harley’s senses kick into overdrive: the smell of blood and smoke but beneath that jasmine and something earthier; the texture of Ivy’s clothes against her exposed skin, each individual fibre setting her nerves alight; the shock of pleasure when Ivy’s lip closes around her nipple. Harley lets out a moan that reverberates through her whole body, starting in her chest and reaching out to her fingertips.

Time is stretched, elastic. Endless seconds pass between each of her heartbeats, and Ivy spends what feels like an eternity teasing her way down her body. Harley lets out a low groan when Ivy starts mouthing at her cunt, the tone sounding foreign and distant even to her own ears. She wants nothing more than to grab a fistful of Ivy’s hair and grind against her face until she comes, but her limbs are like lead, as if gravity has intensified. All she can do is lie back and let the pleasure flow through her like ripples on the surface of a pond, losing herself to the unrelenting pressure of Ivy’s tongue as it teases her clit.

Ivy works two fingers inside her, keeping up a steady rhythm that has Harley canting her hips, gasping and sighing. She’s distantly aware that Ivy’s getting herself off, that one of her hands has found its way between her own legs. Ivy moans against Harley’s clit as her own orgasm builds and the sensation is enough to push Harley over the edge. She gasps, clawing at the sheets as her orgasm tears through her, her whole body shaking with the force of it as Ivy continues to suck her clit, unrelenting.

She must lose some measure of time because her next conscious thought is that Ivy is laying soft kisses to her cheeks, stroking them with an affection that cuts right to Harley’s core.

“Back with me?” She must have come while Harley was in a daze, if the flush of her cheeks is anything to go by.

Harley hums in reply and captures Ivy’s mouth with fervour. When they finally break apart she says, “yeah, we’re definitely gonna have to do this again.”

ii. _Sambucus racemose_

 

The second time, Harley only has herself to blame.

“I’m bored,” she whines. “Why don’t we ever do anything fun anymore?”

“What do you mean?” Ivy asks, not looking up from where she’s painting her nails. “We killed the mayor last week. That was plenty fun.” And yeah it was, but that was _then_ and this is _now._ Harley lets out a huff and glowers at her.

“Well,” she says after a long pause, finishing the final stroke and recapping the nail polish. You could help me test out my new nails? They’re supposed to induce paralysis.”

Harley makes a face. “That sounds like the opposite of fun. Don’t you have anything new you could try on me?”

Ivy’s thoughtful for a moment but then her expression shifts to something sharp and predatory, and really, Harley should have known better than to push but—

“Oh I think I have just the thing.”

The red elderberry, Ivy tells her as she crushes the tiny, fragrant fruit, can be found in the northern hemisphere, often in woodlands or near streams. Which is all well and good of course, but Harley just wants to know what it _does_. “Now where would the fun be in that?” is Ivy’s reply when she asks, her expression nothing short of wicked.  

She scoops up some of the paste from the bowl and holds the spoon up to Harley who parts her lips obediently. The berries are sweet but earthy, and she makes a show of licking the spoon, letting some of the juice spill over her lip before catching it with her tongue. She doesn’t miss the way Ivy’s eyes darken at the sight, her breath catching imperceptibly, and barely holds back a smirk of her own.

 

: : :

 

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to tease Ivy. Harley doesn’t fully appreciate that fact until she’s clawing at the pillows, burying her face in them to muffle her own screaming.

“Sorry, what was that?” Ivy asks, her hand coming down hard on Harley’s bare ass for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“Eight,” she stutters out, her voice already sounding wrecked.

“That’s better.” Harley is allowed a brief moment of respite before Ivy’s hand is coming down hard again, hitting her on the sensitive skin just below the curve of her ass. This time she yelps, completely forfeiting her pride. She tries to jerk away from Ivy’s iron grip on her ass where her fingers dig into the reddened skin but it’s useless, Ivy’s holding her fast.

“Nine.”

Harley likes to think she’s got a pretty high pain threshold; bumps and bruises (and fractures and gunshot wounds) are common in their line of work, and Harley’s always been able to grit her teeth along with the best of them. But this _plant_ , these tiny, innocent-looking berries have done a number on her. Every smack of Ivy’s palm to her skin sends shocks of white-hot pain up her spine, every touch feels blisteringly hot.

Ivy blows on her inflamed skin and the featherlight sensation makes her acutely aware of just how badly her ass is stinging. She’s already bracing herself for the next blow; it comes down hard on her other cheek and this time when Harley counts it off, it comes out as a moan, because fuck if she’s not helplessly turned on by all of this. Harley’s a masochist through and through, and Ivy’s rough treatment has her cunt throbbing, has her arching backwards into every blow.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” she murmurs, and Harley outright gasps as she roughly pushes two fingers inside her without warning, crooking her fingers in a way that makes her thigh tremble.

It’s a struggle to get the words out, but Harley’s sure to make them sound as vicious as possible when she does. “Is that really all you’ve got?”

Ivy growls and tugs her back by one of her pigtails, forces her back into a sharp arch so she can get her mouth right next to her ear. “You’re going to regret that.” She removes her fingers and slaps her three times in quick succession, Harley howling and writhing beneath her.

True to her word, Ivy redoubles her efforts, and by the time she gets to twenty Harley’s screamed herself hoarse and her face is stained with tears. Ivy pulls her into her lap and lays kisses over her wet cheeks, murmuring praise into her ear. She gets a hand between Harley’s legs and works her clit with firm, sure strokes, and it’s not long before Harley’s shuddering through an orgasm, the pleasure a sharp counterpoint to the pain.

Afterwards they kiss, languid and slow, and when Harley runs a hand up Ivy’s thigh she shushes her, pushing her gently onto the bed. She rummages in the bedside drawer and retrieves a jar of homemade arnica salve that she applies gently to Harley’s inflamed skin, all the while keeping up a steady litany of praise that makes something in Harley’s chest ache. _You’re so good for me Harls, always so perfect, taking it so well._

The salve reduces the pain to a dull throb, and once Ivy finishes applying it she settles against the headboard. Harley rests her head in her lap, already drifting off. Ivy’s hands find their way to her hair, petting her gently, the simple gesture of affection both soothing and familiar. She explains to Harley in soft tones that she’s been cultivating this plant for aiding in what she calls _information extraction,_ but Harley would probably just call _torture._

“Some plants in the Caprifoliaceae family—including _Sambucus racemose—_ have the potential to inhibit the reuptake the amino acid peptides associated with the pain response.” She explains the underlying biological mechanisms as if Harley doesn’t have a doctorate in psychiatry and has never cracked open a neurophysiology textbook. Harley, as always, indulges her. “This results in an exaggerated pain response. Which means we could extract information more efficiently, or in such a way that prevents lasting damage to the subject that could ultimately prevent us from finding out what we need to know.”

Ivy’s hand are deceptively gentle in her hair and as they run down her spine, her tenderness a stark counterpoint to the cruelness of her words. It’s genius of course—just like all of Ivy’s plans. As Harley drifts into the haze of sleep, she finds herself once again grateful that she and Ivy are allies, not enemies.

iii. _Aster alpinus_

 

Harley’s finishing a job in Star City when she gets the call. She digs her phone out of her back pocket with one hand, keeping her gun trained on the mark bound at her feet with the other. She takes a moment to see the word DANDELIONESS flash across the screen before swiping to accept the call.

“’Lo?” she answers, pressing the phone to her ear. She decides to forgo the gun entirely and begins kicking his teeth in, stomping hard and feeling the flesh give way under her the heel of her boot.

“Harls! Hope this isn’t a bad time. What are you up to?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” she says, pressing her foot to the man’s throat, watching him writhe helplessly as he struggles for air.

“Keeping out of trouble I hope?”

“Could always stand to find myself in a little more,” is the reply, her voice heavy with the insinuation. “What’s up?”

Ivy asks how soon she can be in Gotham, tells her that she’s developed a new tonic—and fuck if _that_ doesn’t get her attention. She agrees right away, her pulse already thrumming in anticipation while Ivy rattles off an unfamiliar address.

Once she disconnects the call, she turns to back to the guy at her feet. “I was gonna hang out here and bleed you dry, but it looks like I’ve got a better offer.” She watches his eyes widen in terror before she puts a bullet right between them, stepping over the body and not looking back.

The drive to Gotham from Star City usually takes just under four hours, but Harley does it in three. She arrives at the address and finds it’s an actual mansion, one of those stately manors that’s older than Gotham itself, the kind Harley always wanted to live in when she was a kid.

The door’s already ajar and she makes her way through the impressive interior. There’s no trace of any of the owners. Best case scenario, they’re locked in their own basement, drugged or hypnotised to the point where they can’t even remember their own names. Worst case scenario… Well, Harley’s sure that they deserved it, at any rate.

Ivy is—predictably—in the greenhouse. Harley loiters in the doorway for the longest time, watching her tend to her plants, bottling a few clippings. Like this, with late-afternoon light streaming in through the dusty glass, she looks positively ethereal; red hair shining copper-bright, skin emanating a faintly green hue, as if she were mother nature incarnate. Harley didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone more than once, but here she is again—for what must be the millionth time—falling hard once more.

“You’re here.” Ivy’s voice breaks her from her reverie, smiling in a way that makes her shiver. The energy in the room shifts in a way that’s almost palpable, and when Ivy crosses the room and kisses her, she swears she can hear electricity crackling in the air.

“Hi,” she says when she draws back. “What have you got cooked up for me?”

“Harley, have you ever known me to give away the game away so soon?” she asks with an arch of her eyebrow. Then she simply says, “strip.”

Harley wants to make a quip, a smart-ass remark about how she’s all business, but something tells her that compliance at this stage can only help her down the road. Because yeah, Harley can be mouthy, can be downright _bratty_ , and sometimes it’s fun to goad Ivy, to push as far as she can just to see how far Ivy will push _back_. But sometimes, like this, she wants nothing more than to just hand over the reins, to let Ivy call the shots.

Ivy openly appraises her once she’s undressed then backs her up against the large workbench in the centre of the greenhouse, runs a hand up the inside of her thigh and works two fingers inside her. “Already so wet for me,” she murmurs against her mouth, and Harley gasps, lets her eyes fall shut at the praise. “That’s a good start,” she says before removing her fingers and pushing them against Harley’s lips.

Harley swallows her fingers down eagerly, drawing back to nip at the pads of her fingers, moaning and making a show of it. Colour rises steadily in Ivy’s cheeks before she removes her fingers abruptly and says, “lie down on the bench.”

Harley does as she’s told, feeling the rough texture of the wood underneath her back. Ivy busies herself on the other side of the room and comes back holding several clippings, plants with purple flowers on long stems.

“What’s that?” she asks, hoping that whatever Ivy’s planning, it doesn’t involve eating the flowers.

“Alpine aster,” and Harley nods the way she always does as if this information were somehow useful or illustrative. “No known medicinal purposes, but it’s not what interests me.”

“Oh?” Harley says, barely able to keep her jitters at bay. Ivy rearranges her limbs so she’s spread-eagled, her arms and legs pushed wide. Another wave of arousal washes over her now that she’s so exposed, and she can’t help but cant her hips up, begging to be touched.

Ivy notices and laughs. “Oh, they’ll be plenty of time for that,” she says, laying the clippings over her wrists and ankles. Harley’s heart is pounding, her fight-or-flight instincts raring up, telling her to run now while she can. Harley doesn’t do well with sitting still, with remaining in a fixed place, and she’s already thrumming with restless energy.

“So what _is_ of interest to you?” she asks, hoping to distract herself.

“This,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside is a translucent blue, viscous. Ivy uncaps it and dispenses a couple of drops onto the clippings at her wrists and ankles. For a long moment nothing happens, and Harley feels nothing but the thump of her heart in her chest, her head spinning with possibilities. Suddenly, she feels movement at her limbs, the long stems of the plant suddenly lengthening, winding up her arms and legs at one end while the other ends anchor themselves around the legs of the work bench.

Harley lets out a bitten-off scream, struggling instinctively against her bonds. That only seems to encourage the plant, the stems growing thicker until they more closely resemble vines, winding their way up past her knees and elbows.

Dazedly, she realises that more flowers are slowly blooming all over her body, a fact that Ivy seems to appreciate. “God Harls, you’re so gorgeous,” she says, running a hand over her breasts, down her stomach, stroking between her legs. “I wish I could have you like this.”

Harley’s breath stutters. “You can,” she says, trying to spread her legs even further to encourage more of Ivy’s touch but finding her movement restricted. “C’mon Red, please, I’m already losing my mind here.”

“Hmm, tempting,” she says, idly running a finger down the side of her ribs. “But I just need to test the strength of the vines. And it’s not like I need to be here for that.”

“Wait, Red— _Ivy_ —please, just—”

“I’ll leave this with you,” she says, placing a small knife in Harley’s hand, “I have no doubt you could free yourself if you wanted to. But you know how much I would hate if anything were to happen to my plants.” And there it is: the challenge, the test. The thing that’s guaranteed to make Harley stay put more than the restraints themselves.

“How long will you be?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even.

“Oh I don’t know, a couple of hours maybe,” she says, examining her fingernails. “Places to be, people to kill, you know how it is.”

Harley swallows hard. She can do this. A couple of hours is nothing, she could definitely find a way to pass the time. She could meditate, or count sheep, or—

“Oh by the way,” says Ivy, retrieving a small box from the opposite work bench. Harley’s heart lurches because she _recognises_ that box. “I thought in order to properly test the vines, they should be met with constant resistance, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harley keeps her expression as neutral as possible, and knows that she’s failing spectacularly. The vibrator Ivy pulls out of the box is fairly modest; simple and sleek. But both of them have first-hand experience with it, know just how powerful it can be, especially when angled just so—

“You look nervous,” Ivy murmurs as she slowly pushes the toy inside her.

Harley barely bites back a gasp. “Not nervous, just wish you’d quit monologuing and get on with it already.” Harley knows she’ll regret those words, that faux bravado, but she can’t stop herself.

Ivy chuckles low in her throat as if she were thinking the same thing and turns the vibrator on its lowest setting. Harley’s careful not to give anything away save for a sharp intake of breath as she adjusts to the sensation, already fighting the instinct to cant her hips, to clench around the toy.

“That it?” she asks, her tone deceptively even. “I guess your precious plants will be safe with me after all.”

Ivy’s leer is nothing short of dangerous, and Harley’s pulse quickens as she leans in to whisper in her ear. “That’s what I like to hear.” She lays a quick kiss on Harley’s cheek, a gesture that’s uncharacteristically tender for this game they’re playing. “Have fun, Harls,” she says before turning and leaving the room without so much as a backward glance.

 

: : :

 

She’s not sure of how long Ivy’s gone, not sure of much of anything beyond the incessant buzzing between her legs. She’s already shuddered through what feels like a dozen orgasms, each one of them weaker and more unsatisfying than the last. At one point she tried to hold off, to tamper down on her body’s natural response to the stimulation; but that only lead to her shaking through an orgasm completely devoid of pleasure, one that did nothing but contribute to her mounting frustration.

True to Ivy’s design, the plant successfully holds her immobile, not even allowing her enough give to roll her hips as she rides out her orgasms. She clutches the knife in her fist like a lifeline, but Harley has endured worse for lesser people, and there’s no way she’s giving in—especially after holding out for so long.

At some point, the sky outside the greenhouse turns from blue to pink to purple—and it’s inky black and dotted faintly with stars by the time Ivy finally returns. She hovers above Harley like an apparition, looking unearthly in the pale moonlight. When Ivy caresses her face, Harley dimly registers that it’s damp with tears, sweat or both. She moans shamelessly at the contact.

“Okay,” Ivy says, holding Harley’s face and peppering kisses over her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. “It’s okay, you’ve done so well, I’m going to make you feel so good.” She reaches between Harley’s legs and turns the vibe up to its highest setting, the increased intensity making Harley writhe within the confines of her bonds. She squeezes her eyes shut, overwhelmed by sensation, and it takes her some time to realise that Ivy’s climbed up onto the bench and is straddling her.

“But first, you’re going to do me a favour.” She climbs up Harley’s body, until she’s straddling her chest, hiking up her skirt. Ivy’s hand in her hair is firm and unrelenting as she guides Harley’s mouth to her cunt, and Harley channels all of her desperation into getting Ivy off, into licking and sucking her clit. Ivy shudders against her and Harley can tell she’s already so close, has probably been thinking about this the whole time she’s been out cracking skulls and spilling blood. Her grip in Harley’s hair tightens as she begins to grind against her face, and by the time she comes, Harley’s face is a mess and she’s rapidly approaching her own orgasm.

“I need—please,” she pants, so close but it’s not _enough_.

“Tell me baby, what do you need?” Ivy asks, still breathless from her own orgasm. Without waiting for a reply she reaches back and presses two fingers against Harley’s clit, not teasing or stroking, just pressing, and the pressure is exactly what she needs. A shout is ripped from her throat when she comes, her whole body tense as she shakes and shudders through her first real orgasm in hours. Ivy helps her ride it out, keeps her fingers pressed against her swollen clit, and the second Harley gasps at the hypersensitivity, she reaches back to switch off the toy. Harley lets her eyes fall shut, all the muscles in her body gone lax at once, sated after finally achieving release.

For a long time the greenhouse is filled with nothing but the sounds of their breathing, until Harley finally says, “see? You didn’t think I could do it.”

Ivy gently takes the knife from her hand, and Harley starts when she realises she’s cutting the vines off her wrists. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says simply, “of course I did.”

 

 

iv. _Iris sibirica_

 

“I think I’ve found the missing ingredient for my newest aphrodisiac,” Ivy says, apropos of nothing.

Harley immediately freezes, wads of cash clutched in her hands. Ivy continues unloading the vault as if she had just made a mundane comment on the weather. “Wait, does that mean—are you gonna—”

“Need to test it out? Yeah,” she says, throwing a wink in Harley’s direction.

Harley’s brain kicks back into gear, remembers they only have another four minutes to grab as much cash as they can, and gets to work. “Well that’s definitely an incentive to get out of here.”

“Bank robbery as foreplay, who knew that’d get you hot?” she says with a smirk, and tosses a duffel full of cash in Harley’s direction.

 

: : :

 

“When you said you needed to test it out, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Harley says some time later, back in their safehouse.

“I always test my compounds on myself first,” she says, using an eyedropper to place a few drops of the tonic under her tongue. “Well, the nonlethal ones at least,” she adds thoughtfully.

“But I wanted to try it!”

“I couldn’t let you try an untested compound Harley, that would be unethical. I’m not a monster, you know,” she says with enough inflection that Harley’s not sure if she’s being ironic.

Harley barely represses an eyeroll. “So how long does this thing take, anyway?”

“Not sure,” she says, checking her watch. “This tonic is still in its early phases, and it’s the first time that I’m incorporating Siberian Iris. I haven’t added the accelerant yet, so it could potentially take hours.”

“Hours?”

Ivy’s smile twists. “Sorry, did you had something else planned for this evening?”

Harley huffs and flops down on the couch. Now that she knows Ivy’s not likely to turn into a real-life succubus at any given moment, she flicks on the TV and begins aimlessly channel surfing. In the kitchen, Ivy is pottering about tending to her plants and singing to them softly. Harley finds it helplessly endearing, and her irritation at the situation rapidly evaporates.

Harley’s still flicking through channels when she’s interrupted by an emergency broadcast. “Ivy,” she calls, turning the volume up.

“—the GCPD have yet to release an official statement but initial reports indicate that the perpetrators broke into Gotham General Bank at approximately 3am and—”

“Ivy, come look, we’re famous!”

“—no video footage of the crime as the thieves disabled all security systems prior to—”

“Ivy?” she calls again. She mutes the TV and hears no sound coming from the kitchen. She quickly rises, nearly tripping over herself in her hurry, makes it to the kitchen to find—

“Red!” Ivy isn’t responsive, her eyes glassy and vacant. She’s crumpled on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, watering pitcher spilled at her feet. Harley rushes over to her and drops to her knees, noticing that Ivy’s flushed and sweaty. “Ivy, can you hear me?” she asks, putting a hand to Ivy’s forehead.

The words seem to have no effect, but the touch—just the simplest of touches has her gasping; her eyelids flutter rapidly as her whole body reacts, chasing more of that contact like a flower reaching for the sun. “Harls,” she murmurs weakly, “I need—”

“Shhh it’s okay, I know what you need. Can you stand?”

Ivy takes a long moment to respond, so much that Harley thinks she hasn’t heard her. But then she’s nodding weakly, and Harley is hoisting her up, supporting most of her weight as she guides her to the bedroom.

Harley drops her down on the bed as gently as she can, and Ivy immediately moans at the loss of contact, desperation etched into every line of her body. “It’s okay Red, I’m right here,” but the words do little to soothe her, Ivy unable to comprehend them through the haze of the drug. “It’s just, you’re burning up, and we need to get you cooled down,” she says, tugging off Ivy’s boots, knowing even as she says the words that they’re useless. Ivy’s jeans come next, and when Harley’s fingers brush over her cunt as she undoes the zipper, Ivy gasps and arches off the bed.

Harley pulls her jeans the rest of the way off, then—taking the obvious hint—pushes her hand into Ivy’s underwear and begins stroking her clit. She’s shocked when Ivy starts thrashing, groaning in agony and doing everything she can to escape Harley’s hand. Instead of giving her the relief she so obviously needs, her touch seems to have the opposite effect; Ivy’s too sensitised, and the direct contact is unbearable.

“Is it better like this?” She removes her hand from Ivy’s underwear and pushes the heel of her hand against Ivy’s cunt. Ivy moans and starts grinding against her, frantically chasing her release. The friction created by the thin layer of her underwear has her pumping her hips desperately, and Harley’s breath catches at the sight.

While her focus is completely on Ivy—on giving her what she needs right now, she can’t deny the thrill of arousal that courses through her. Ivy’s usually so composed, so in control; seeing her so vulnerable and needy, every inch of her body begging to be touched, has Harley’s head spinning. She feels impossibly powerful knowing that Ivy’s pleasure is in her hands, and she has every intention of handling that responsibility with the utmost care, as Ivy has done for her so many times before.

With her free hand, she pushes Ivy’s shirt up until it’s bunched under her arms, and runs her hand over her breasts. Ivy’s movements grow increasingly frantic under her touch, until she suddenly stills completely, her whole body gone taunt. Harley increases the pressure on her cunt as Ivy rides out her orgasm, her head thrown back and her mouth open in a wordless scream. She lies panting for several moments, her eyes glazed and her face flushed, the muscles of her stomach rippling with the aftershocks.

As if spurred by instinct, Ivy reaches for her. Trembling fingers graze Harley’s cheek, and her heart stutters because Ivy’s hands have never shaken, not even once. Ivy looks at her with a wide-eyed reverence, like Harley’s the only thing she could ever want or need. Harley leans into the touch and draws their mouths together. The kiss is tentative at first, Harley worried she’ll overwhelm Ivy, but Ivy moans into the kiss, comes alive beneath her, and starts fucking her tongue into her mouth. The kiss is equal parts desperate and possessive, and when they finally part they’re both breathless.

Ivy’s shifted beneath her, moved further down the bed so she can grind against Harley’s thigh, and Harley holds her through it, nips at her lips and whispers quiet praise in her ear. _That’s it, you’re doing so good, god I can feel you’re so wet against me, can’t wait to touch you._ It’s not long before Ivy’s riding out her second orgasm, clawing at Harley’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Harley kisses her throat as the aftershocks dissipate, and when she moves to kiss Ivy again she finds her eyes are a little more focused.

“Hey,” she says, sucking Ivy’s lower lip into her mouth. “’S’that better? Take the edge off a little?” Ivy’s still flushed but she manages to nod before drawing her into another kiss no less frantic than the one before it. They break for a moment so Ivy can get her shirt off the rest of the way and kick off her underwear, and Harley takes a moment to appreciate Ivy naked and laid out before her while she’s still fully clothed.

With her shirt off, Harley’s free to leave a trail of kisses down her throat, palming her breasts all the while. She dips her head to nip and suck at Ivy’s nipples and Ivy moans shamelessly in response, one hand buried in her hair while the other scrabbles uselessly at the bedsheets. It’s not long before Ivy captures one of her wrists and guides her hand back towards her cunt. Harley smirks even though Ivy’s eyes are squeezed shut, tears beginning to leak out the side. This time when she touches Ivy, it’s with purpose. She runs her index and middle fingers up either side of her clit, not touching it directly, just gauging how much Ivy can take. Ivy’s hips buck involuntarily and the movement is accompanied by a whine.

“Please,” she pants, “need you—need you inside—”

And _fuck_ if that doesn’t make Harley’s cunt throb. It’s not like Ivy to beg, and Harley finds it instantly intoxicating. For the briefest of moments she imagines Ivy bound to the bed by her own plants, imagines her begging while Harley teases her for hours. Harley savours the thought and makes a mental note to bring it up later. For now, her focus is all on Ivy. “It’s okay, I got you.”

She moans deeply when Harley pushes two fingers inside her. Ivy’s slick and hot around her fingers, and Harley feels her shudder when she begins pumping her fingers in and out. Ivy’s whole body is crying out for release; every muscle is trembling and her hips stutter arrhythmically. She’s gripping the sheets with enough force to tear them, and her face is twisted in agonised pleasure. Harley knows she’s close, knows she just needs something more to push her over the edge; so she dips her head down between Ivy’s legs, wraps her lips around her clit and sucks _hard_.

The effect is instantaneous: Ivy’s hands jump to her hair, holding her head in place while she bucks wildly beneath her. She comes with a shout, her whole body wracked with the force of it, and Harley fucks her through it, pumping her fingers rapidly until Ivy finally shoves her away, overstimulated.

Harley can’t help but chuckle at that. “Good to see you’re already back to normal.” She moves back up Ivy’s body and kisses her, lets Ivy taste herself on her lips. Her eyes are still wide and dazed, but there’s a familiar affection in her tone when she calls Harley a brat, so Harley assumes she’s probably going to be okay.

Harley shifts so she’s lying on her side, one arm slung over Ivy’s waist, feeling the thrum of arousal under her skin. As if reading her mind, Ivy turns to her and says, “do you need—” but Harley silences her with another kiss and murmurs, “later.”

Ivy nods and holds her closer. They lie there together for the longest time as Ivy’s breathing evens out, Harley tracing patterns on Ivy’s skin. Harley thinks she’s drifted off when suddenly she speaks again. “Besides, I still have to pay you back.”

Harley’s brain scrambles to catch up, thrown by the non-sequitur. “Oh?”

Ivy hums and nuzzles her. “Yeah, for tonight. We’ll need to test that the compound reacts the same to different metabolisms.”

Harley can’t help the grin that stretches over her face. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” she says, laying a kiss on Harley’s throat and linking their fingers together. “It’s important to be empirical.”


End file.
